


The Once Upon A Time Affair- A different sort of hero

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Crossover, France (Country), Friendship, Gambling, Gen, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Summary: Napoleon and Illya are once again in Monte Carlo, but this time they must enlist the help of an innocent to help them 'get out of Dodge' during France's blockade of the Principality of Monaco. (The story has a surprise 'crossover')





	The Once Upon A Time Affair- A different sort of hero

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Once Upon a Time Affair Challenge on Section VII, LiveJournal
> 
> The Prompt –
> 
> {Your Choice} held his breath as the ball bounced around the spinning roulette wheel. Ordinarily he would be hoping for the ball to settle on his chosen number but, this time, he didn’t want the wheel to stop spinning at all.
> 
> The Theme – Hope

[ ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12844360/1/)

 

Louis held his breath as the ball bounced around the spinning roulette wheel. Ordinarily he would be hoping for the ball to settle on his chosen number but, this time, he didn't want the wheel to stop spinning at all.

If it stopped spinning there was that chance it wouldn't end on his number. He'd bet his last few francs on number 7, praying it would come up.

He had to at least hope it would. If it didn't then, well there was only one alternative left, but it was a very final one and that was to get a job.

His culinary skills were still superb, but in Monaco there were so many trained chefs that Louis would only be one sheep among many. He'd be lucky if he were to get a job in a kitchen as a salad chef.

It was the young who were the line cooks, only the Executive chefs and sous chefs might be a bit more mature. And Louis, now in his late fifties would be turned away for any higher position given he had little to no credentials.

Louis LeBeau didn't have that kind of luck, well maybe he did while he was a POW during the war so many years ago at Stalag 13. After being transferred there he became part of a spying and sabotage unit masquerading as prisoners who ran rings around the stupid _Boche._

He laughed to himself as he hadn't even thought of that word in years. It was term used for the Germans, an abbreviation of _caboche_ and a French word used familiarly for 'head,' especially a big, thick head, a slow-pate. _Boche_ seemed to have been used first in the underworld of Paris in the last century, with the meaning of a disagreeable, troublesome fellow...apropos when referring to the Nazis.

After the war he opened his own restaurant in his beloved Paris, married the girl who had waited for him for seven years. Louis was so in love that he didn't see the truth, as she eventually robbed him blind and ran away with her lover, leaving LeBeau bankrupt.

Such was his misfortune when it came to a beautiful woman. Back in the days at the Stalag, he'd gotten himself in trouble with a few of their female contacts from the underground… sometimes he thought it was well worth it.

 _"Vive l'amour!"_ He was still a romantic at heart in spite of some bad experiences with the ladies. He adored them, nonetheless.

Louis dismissed those thoughts, as he was stuck now in Monaco with just a few centimes left in his pocket. He was surrounded by wealth and luxury but couldn't partake of any of it.

The roulette wheel finally ceased its spinning and mon Dieu! Number 7 it came up!

"Hallelujah!" Louis blurted out.

He was a small man by comparison to those who few who stood around him at the table and needed to speak up to be noticed, especially by the Croupier, even though he casinos were fairly empty...

Louis took half his winnings and bet them on number 14 and again he won.

Each time he took half his winnings and bet them on a new higher number; again and again he won. His luck had finally changed.

Now that he had enough money, it was time to test the method of baccarat master Evelyn Tremble.* Louis knew it well and was sure the system would work for him. At baccarat he could win big and bribe his way out of Monaco.

The French government had implemented a blockade six months ago and was of De Gaulle's making...something to do with fiscal justice. Prince Rainier's opposition to France became a matter of sovereignty and independence against a greater power, and the blockade reflected a France that was perhaps ready to stand for its values of fiscal equity. Still, it was actually considering a police action against the small city-state ruled by the Prince and Grace Kelly.

"Ahhhh, Grace Kelly," Louis smiled." _magnifique!"_

He did not care for the politics of it all, he only cared about getting home. Monaco was a playground for the rich and famous, and not meant for the likes of him, that he knew. He'd only come here to hopefully win some money to start another restaurant.

Little did he know how expensive it was to exist here, until now most of his money went for lodgings and food, the rest he gambled with until he was down to almost nothing. Had it not been for the blockade, he would have retreated back to Paris with his tail between his legs. He could always go back to work in his father's paint store...Louis' beloved restaurant had only been a few doors down from his father's shop. It would have been a sad reminder for him but _alors.._.

Perhaps with his winnings he could open a small bistro back in Paris, nothing so big this time and definitely with no wife! Not that he had anything against women...he could still have a girlfriend or two or three or four.

 _"Oh la la!"_ LeBeau wistfully smiled to himself.

At last he'd amassed a tidy sum. Still he knew his luck at the roulette table could only last so long. He won again and again, though finally Louis decided he had tempted the Fates long enough.

It was now onto bigger and better things, and because of what he'd won, he was permitted a seat at the baccarat table. That was his real game, but in order to play one had to have lots of money, and now he did.

His hopes were now to win enough money to bribe his way past the blockade and allow him passage to Paris and have enough left to fulfill his dreams.

As he collected his winnings, he became nervous. It was a lot of money, more than he figured. Still it was not enough to implement his plan of escape. He had to try at baccarat.

He now realized two men were following him, one blond the other dark haired. They were both dressed in tuxedos; they didn't look like thieves, they looked like police.

Why should he worry if they were ' _les flics'_ a not so nice slang for the police. After all he'd done nothing wrong, but then again they might think he had since he had such a successful winning streak seemingly out of the blue. Perhaps they thought he was cheating, which he wasn't. Maybe they were house detectives?

He ducked into the men's room, a place larger than Louis' humble lodgings outside of Monte Carlo.

Knowing they'd follow him there, he turned to face and confront them and sticking his hand in his jacket pocket he made it look as though he had a gun.

As they came inside Louis called out to them in French.

" _Arrêtez messieurs, j'ai une arme à feu!"_

The blond smiled, holding up his fingers, "You mean a gun like this? "

"Do you wish to find out the truth of it or not?" Louis countered.

"Truth," the dark haired one said. He and his companion drew their weapons from holsters concealed beneath their tuxedo jackets.

"Oh," Louis said as he raised his hands above his head." It was worth a try."

"That will not be necessary Monsieur," the brunette said."We're not here to rob you, but we do have a proposition for you."

It was obvious that he was an American, while the other man's accent was odd. It sounded British, though there were hints of something else.

"I'm listening," Louis said, "but first are not introductions in order?"

"Apologies _Monsieur,_ you're quite right. My name is Solo, Napoleon Solo, and this shaggy haired fellow is my partner Mr. Illya Kuryakin."

"Ahh, a Russian," Louis smiled. "I knew there was something odd about your accent! And you Monsieur Solo, such a powerful name; _Vive le Napoléon!_ My name messieurs, is Louis LeBeau. So now that out of the way, what is this proposition you have for me?"

"We work for an organization called the U.N.C.L.E. and before you ask who, it is indeed a what," Illya said.

Napoleon chimed in." It stands for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement."

"Ahhh, so you are _gendairms after all, n'est ce pas?"_

"Not quite police, but close enough,"Illya said.

"So what can I do to help you?"

"You see we've run into a bit of financial difficulty, we've been cut off from our organization and being unable to communicate with them, since we lost our communication devices...which is a long story. Being without them we cannot request assistance. Regular telephones are not possible, given we are umm, international spies...though we're the good guys."

"What my partner is trying to say Monsieur LeBeau is that we have just about run out of money and need to get back to Paris. It is you who can help us out, well your luck can, or so Napoleon thinks so," Illya looked a bit dubious.

"You said you did not want my money," Louis protested.

"We don't, well not exactly," Napoleon interrupted."We propose to add what we have left to your coffers and are willing to take a chance on your gambling acumen to win us enough money to get out of here."

"You see Mister Solo, who is quite talented at baccarat, does not possess enough financial backing to be permitted at the table, where as you do," Illya said.

" _Excusez-moi,"_ Le Beau said," but there is the little matter of the blockade with France, no one can get in or out of Monaco."

" _Au contraire,"_ Napoleon smiled. "We possess diplomatic passports and can come and go."

"If we had the money to do so," Illya said.

"You have such passports _Messieurs,_ but I do not."

"Ahhh, but Mr. Kuryakin here is quite skilled at altering such documents, and we do happen to have a blank passport in our possession. It's yours if you'll help us?"

" _Vraiment?_ " Le Beau's face lit up with excitement.

"Yes, _really,_ " Napoleon flashed a most charming smile."If the plan works then we'll all be on the train to Paris very soon. I can guarantee you a bit of a reward from our organization for helping us out as well."

Louis vigorously shook the hands of the agents, agreeing to their scheme.

"Excellent," Napoleon said."We'll be in touch shortly.

The UNCLE agents left Louis LeBeau in the men's room to absorb all that had just happened.

"You promised him a reward," Illya whispered." Waverly will never pay that."

"Don't worry yourself over it, I'll figure out something. I always do."

"That is what I am afraid of Napoleon."

Granted these men from UNCLE could have gotten themselves out of Monaco, and given their talents they could have figured a way to get back to Paris. It was Solo's thinking that since they were no longer escaping any goons or THRUSH thugs then why not take a chance and see if they could just end up traveling in style instead of hitching rides in some farmer's donkey cart, among other things.

It would make for too slow going, and the monies they did have on hand would have to be used for food and lodging. They couldn't just make a phone call to the Paris office as the lines weren't secure. Being without their communicators, they couldn't even let headquarters know they were alive and well, and carrying the documents to yet another plan for world domination. Those plans needed to be delivered by the quickest means possible.

"No, this scheme is better," Napoleon grinned.

"I hope you are right my friend. We cannot afford to lose even one sou."

"I know, just trust me."

"I am trusting you and we are both trusting this Louis LeBeau."

The Frenchman met with Illya, bringing his passport and watched as the Russian carefully transferred his photograph to the diplomatic document. Kuryakin, using a jeweler's loupe, hand inked the stamps, making them look virtually identical to those on Louis's original passport.

LeBeau held out his hand for it when it was finished.

"Oh no," Illya wagged his finger," not until you win. Then we go."

"It seems Monsieur that I am the one taking all the risk as most of the money in the pot will be mine."

"Beg pardon Louis, but were you not planning to play baccarat before we approached you with our proposition?"

"True, alors. A deal is but a deal."

That night Louis LeBeau kept his part of the bargain and won at baccarat. He played boldly and bet big. Napoleon couldn't help but admire the little man's style. After the next night's gaming there was more than enough to implement the plan.

As Solo and Kuryakin, escorted LeBeau out to their rented car they climbed in and drove from the casino, heading towards the border.

Illya was behind the wheel and after looking in the rearview mirror he knew there was trouble.

"We have company coming up fast. Now I think someone really wanting to rob you Louis!"

Illya floored the gas pedal, yet the black sedan kept speeding up on them.

"Ping Ping!" Bullets ricocheted against the rear of their car.

Louis who was in the back seat was ordered to get down.

"Non, I can handle a gun, give me yours Illya!"

Napoleon nodded his approval, and taking Kuryakin's special he handed it to LeBeau.

They rolled down the windows and began returning fire. Minutes later the car tailing them veered sharply and suddenly rolled, tumbling into a ditch.

"Well that was exciting," Louis exclaimed."Reminded me of the old days during the war."

He handed Illya's gun to Solo and slowly as they reached the border, their passports were presented. Of course they were permitted to go, but the bullet holes in the car did get elicit a few stares from the police and military who commanded the checkpoint.

It was but a short drive to Nice, and from there they boarded a train, and travelled in style to Paris as planned.

Once they arrived, Solo and Kuryakin took the Frenchman to headquarters where the ladies, much to Louis' delight, fawned over the man.

He regaled them of tales of Stalag 13 and his compatriots there. Apparently, much to the surprise of Solo and Kuryakin, LeBeau was a bit of an unsung war hero.

Given that, somehow Alexander Waverly was well aware of the who the little Frenchman was and gladly authorized a reward for helping his agents to get out of Monaco and deliver those deadly documents, thereby foiling yet another THRUSH plan.

During a video conference call Waverly let slip his days of working with the underground in France, and the fact that he also personally knew Peter Newkirk another member of the team in Stalag 13. Much to everyone's surprise, he was apparently a distant relation to the Waverly family.

Newkirk's conniving ways were even too much for the likes of UNCLE in its infancy, prompting Waverly to dismiss the idea of offering Peter a position with the Command. However, given LeBeau's background he suggested the man come work for UNCLE.

Louis declined, saying with the money he now had, he would open that bistro after all. Cooking was still his passion.

"Well my dear Monsieur LeBeau, should your situation change you would be more than welcome to be executive chef at our Paris office. Unlike some of our locations around the world, the gastronomic requirements of Paris far exceed that of our other headquarters."

"Merci, Monsieur Waverly," Louis nodded," I will keep that in mind. Please give my regards to Newkirk, should you ever speak to him."

The Old Man cleared his throat," Yes, ahem, quite."

He had not in fact seen Peter in years, and the last time they met, Newkirk picked his pocket…

"Gentlemen," Waverly directed his attention to his agents," I will expect you on the next flight to New York as I have another assignment awaiting your special attention. It seems our old friend Mr. Partridge as resurfaced yet again. This time in Alaska, of all places."

"Yes sir, "they replied in unison, just before the video screen faded to black.

"Guess this is goodbye Louis," Napoleon offered his hand to the Frenchman. LeBeau pulled Solo to him, giving him the traditional kiss on either cheek. He did the same to Kuryakin.

" _Au revoir mes amis et merci."_ The little man was escorted out by a member of Security.

"I liked the little guy. He must have been something else back in the day in that POW Camp. What an operation too." Napoleon said.

"It was perhaps even more dangerous for Louis as he is a Jew," Illya added.

"He's Jewish?"

"Yes he told me during a conversation on the train to Paris. It was perhaps his greatest feat during is stay at Stalag 13, as he told no one he was a Jew. If word got out…"

"I know tovarisch," Solo nodded.

Illya seemed rather contemplative after that, and Napoleon, knowing his partner well enough could tell something was up with the Russian."

"Penny for your thoughts tovarisch? Thinking about our old friend Partridge?"

"No, and It is nothing I wish to speak of at the moment. Louis' stories brought back many memories of the war, both good and bad. Someday I might share them with you, but not today."

"Fair enough, so you hungry? "Napoleon asked." What am I saying, you're always hungry. Let's take advantage of the ' _cuisine gastronomique'_ here in Paris while we can. Seems Paris gets gourmet chefs and in New York we get the likes of 'Cookie,' a retired army cook."

That wasn't lost on Kuryakin and he flashed a brief smile. His partner didn't have to ask him twice…

.

.

A/N obviously this is an homage to the TV show, Hogan's Heroes' Louis LeBeau, but the Evelyn Trumble bit is in reference to the movie/comedy "Casino Royale" starring Peter Sellers; supposedly, David McCallum had an uncredited cameo, but it's never been verified and was probably a look alike.


End file.
